


Awakening the Light

by mantequillamothman



Category: Mothman (Folklore)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Mothman, Mothman is nb bc I said so, No Angst Only Fluff, Not sure how tags work it's my first time here soz, Oc bc I know nothing about fandoms, Other, Romance, slowburn, very serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantequillamothman/pseuds/mantequillamothman
Summary: Charlie is a struggling writer hoping a visit to his hometown will help him make a start on his first book. After stumbling into a café one evening, he sparks something more than just inspiration.
Relationships: Mothman (Character)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Awakening the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Not enough mothman romance fics out there, time to fix that. Format is a little messed up bc I copied from my notes app woops

Januarys are always miserable.  
Charlie pulled his coat protectively over his notebooks, gripping them tightly to prevent them slipping from his freezing, wet hands. The pitch black sky was pelting down sleet with a mid-winter mercilessness, filling the gutters with slush that seeped through the holes in Charlie's boots and soaked into his socks.  
He walked quickly along the pavement, head bowed against the weather, searching for an open place to shelter in until things settled down outside. It was 5pm, typical closing time for the local stores. He cursed himself quietly for choosing walking over taking his car today. The thirty minute journey back home on his feet was no longer an option, his books would be destroyed.  
He swiped his hair out his face with a free hand and looked ahead for some lights. Bingo. Up ahead he caught the glow of a late-night coffee shop. A small, old building with arched windows; each glass panel foggy with the heat from within. Charlie had visited this café before, having been brought in on days out with his grandparents, but had never entered since their passing. It was routine for them to take him in there for a treat after a long day of trudging from shop to shop, watching them buy household necessities and chat with the local folk. He always picked hot chocolate, even on clammy summer days he'd happily sweat his way through a mug, much to his grandparents amusement.  
Something about the familiarity was comforting, but at the same time the café was tainted with grief and he hadn't been near the place since. Charlie pushed open the heavy wooden door, welcoming the pleasant warmth that enveloped him. And that sweet smell of coffee and pastries, same as it always was before.   
The door slowly creaked and clicked shut behind him, drawing him back into the room. It was a slow evening with few customers, music playing quietly at the back of the shop. The owner sat at a table with a couple regulars, chatting amongst themselves without even looking up at the sound of him entering. Charlie scanned the tables for a seat that was optimally hidden away. He'd brought his writing notes with him and figured he might as well get some work done while he was stuck here, but would rather no one came over to nosy around at what he was doing. After locating a nice set up tucked up in the far corner of the café, Charlie crossed the room as inconspicuously as he could, as not to draw the attention of the others. He uncovered his damp notebooks from his coat and placed them on the table.  
"Here son!" The owner bellowed in his bright voice, "Go hang that jacket up before you sit down, I don't want you getting my chairs wet!"  
The young man whipped around in surprise. 'Damn, caught', he thought. The owner was a large, red faced man with a booming voice who was far too sociable for the mood the weather had put Charlie in. He couldn't be dealing someone so cheery who talked as much as that man did.  
Charlie quietly apologised and removed his coat, carrying it to a set of hooks hung up by a door labeled 'PRIVATE' before returning to his seat. The owner had to be joking the chairs, those things hadn't been replaced since the shop first opened. They were large and well-worn now, the fabric splitting at the seams and exposing the cheap cushion inside. Even the tables were tattered from years of scratches and straining.  
Finally settled, Charlie slowly opened the top notebook of the pile to check the damage before he started looking to order something. He involuntarily hissed through his teeth upon realising his attempt to save them was in vain. The icy rain had seeped through his clothes and melted against the ink. Hour upon hours of work ran down the pages and dripped into his hands. Charlie shut the book and sighed.  
The owner, who'd quietly been watching this unfold, took it upon himself to go approach him in an effort to get his spirits back up.   
"You alright, son?"   
Charlie could see him curiously eyeing the notebooks up, he may have asked how he was, but what he really wanted to ask was what was in those pages.  
"Ah, it's just some of my stuff for.. class, it got caught in the rain out there," he replied, gesturing out the front windows.  
"And here I was thinking all you kids had gone digital with this sorta thing! I'm sorry to hear that, but I'll tell ya what! You go get yourself something warm to drink, and I'll tell the barista to throw in a free slice of cake for your troubles. Nothing better than sugar to calm a worry!" He beamed, before turning around and making his was into the backroom behind the counter.   
Charlie leaned across the table to pull the laminated menu from its stand, grimacing at the slightly sticky patches that covered it's surface. They certainly kept the original menu too, the tacky 'fancy' font certainly complimented how the overly worked peeling edges curled in on themselves. He didn't need to look through the menu by the time he'd got his eyes on it, already knowing he was basically obliged to order a hot chocolate for nostalgia's sake. This little trip into his favourite childhood place just wouldn't be right without it.  
He placed the menu back into the stand before turning to the counter. He slowly walked up and peered around to get a glance through the open door of the backroom, as the owner hadn't came back out yet. He couldn't get a proper look into the room from his angle, only able to see storage shelves and boxes, so he instead preoccupied himself with looking into the glass cabinets below the countertop where they displayed the pastries. And this time most had been bought already, but there were a few odd slices to pick from. No doubt they'd be a little stale by now, unfortunately.  
'Stale cake is still free cake, no complaints,' Charlie reminded himself.  
"Alright!" The owner exclaimed while clapping his hands as he emerged from the backroom and walked back around. "Sorry for the wait, son. I've got a new worker back there who's still getting the ropes! They'll be out in a second, just tell them what you want and try to be patient with them, eh? They're learning." He chuckled loudly and gave Charlie a playful nudge while walked back to his regulars.  
The last time he'd been here, the workers were all people Charlie knew. People who'd been at this shop for years. People who lived in the homes in the street the café sat on. He wondered how many new people had worked here that he hadn't even known about.   
His thought was quickly interrupted by a dark figure coming into view from the backroom. They were huge, even larger than the owner, they had to have been around 7 ft tall. Black shaggy fuzz covered their body from head to toe, and from their sides two huge wings lay folded in. Their eyes were incandescently red and quite expressive as Charlie could tell how nervously they looked him over. New worker indeed, poor creature was practically shaking.  
The fear from the moth was easing Charlie into a friendlier mood, he felt the need to give them a nice experience with serving a customer to reassure them that the job wasn't worth getting as worked up over as they had clearly got themself. He checked the barista's work apron for a name tag, hoping that calling them by name while talking to them would make them feel a little more comfortable with him. The name tag was almost comically hard to find, being so small compared to the massive size of apron they had to wear, but he saw it eventually,

MOTHMAN

'Figures,' thought Charlie, 'can't say it doesn't suit them'.  
The Mothman trilled questioningly, making him realise how long he'd been stood there silent for.  
"Oh! Sorry about that. Uhm.. could I have one of the hot chocolates please. Um. Medium please." He was suddenly just as nervous as Mothman, it was dawning on him that he wasn't too great with new people either, no matter how much he wanted to be friendly.  
He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in himself. As if Mothman noticed the drop in his mood, they chirped lightheartedly and broke the air of tension that had built up. Charlie found himself laughing too, he felt himself relax a little around the moth.   
"Should I go take a seat and just let you get back to work?" He asked.  
A chirp, agreement.  
Charlie strolled back to his chair with a pleasant buzz of happiness flowing through him from the interaction. He flipped absentmindedly through his ruined notebooks, feeling a little less bothered by his lost writing. This was something he could let himself panic over later. A bit of quiet time was maybe needed right now. The truth was, he had been trying to make it as a writer for years. He picked up writing as a hobby while he was in his mid teens, then began taking it more seriously as he reached his twenties, and had been spending the past five years desperately trying to piece his first book together. He'd read avidly his whole life, he'd taken classes in writing when he was eighteen, he'd studied literature and practiced writing daily to try to hone his skills but nothing he tried to write felt like it could be good enough. A thousand ideas had been tossed, a thousand nights of sleep missed, a thousand notebooks wasted with bad concepts. Maybe these ones being ruined by rain wasn't such a bad thing after all. Maybe they were needing restarted.   
A heavy mug was placed onto the table, clunking loudly against the wood. There was no need for saucers or coasters here, it'd be laughable to offer one to somebody when they're drinking on a surface already covered with more rings than an old oak tree. From behind their back, Mothman presented a plate holding a slice of caramel shortbread.   
Charlie remembered that he'd forgot to ask for what cake he wanted. However shortbread was a safe choice, not many people turn it down, and it was the least likely from the cabinet selection to be stale. It was a smart decision on their part.  
"Thank you. You picked exactly what I wanted, how did you know?" He smiled, lifting his mug up to take a sip. Too hot.  
Mothman's eyes seemed to twinkle with his praise. They chirruped kindly and returned to the counter.  
A pleasing warmth spread through Charlie, and he was sure it wasn't from the hot chocolate.


End file.
